When I was a child, I always knew for sure we were going to Mass. My mother would be carrying her well-worn missal and her hymnal. I would be given my age-appropriate prayer book and we would go to Mass. A part of my coming of age in the Catholic Church came about when I was old enough to have a daily and Sunday missal and my own hymnal. Although, as a child, I liked to try and participate by imitation what was going on, I now had in my hands the means to keep up and pray along with the rest of the congregation.
There was something genuine about holding on to those chunky books. The missal contained all the necessary prayers, epistles and Gospels for every occasion. I would prepare for Mass on the drive by organizing my ribbon bookmarks in the correct Mass for the day. I would scan the readings so as to be prepared for better absorption when the priest read them at Mass. And I would sort my holy cards that had places of honor in my missal. There was a certain sameness that was anything but boring in getting ready for Mass. The Mass seemed to stay with me past the hour of Mass. It was like taking a bit of the mystery and drama back home by way of my prayer book.
My hymnal was also evidence of the continuation of the Church. It was slightly bigger than my missal and contained many memories in addition to the music and lyrics. I hear people complain today that we used to sing the same old songs over and over again back then. I don’t, however, remember ever being bored. Sometimes my heart would beat a littler faster as a well-known favorite would begin. Some songs reminded me of other Masses that had commemorated special holy days, weddings and funerals. And most everyone could and did join in to sing together because the music was a familiar friend and they knew the words.
Today we celebrate Mass in a world of leaflet missals, open to much change since they are periodically disposed of when new ones come in to take their place. From what I have seen, the dog-eared, paperback books of today are more abused than actually used, because they are on their way out almost as soon as they arrive. Inanimate objects, like prayer books, don’t give spirituality but they can be a source of it when used. Depth doesn’t seem possible when the important parts of the readings are mainly in the hands of the lector and your booklet merely indicates that a reading is due at this point in the Mass. You need a spiritual and physical grasp sometimes in order to fully participate in the Sacrifice of the Mass.
We have plenty of variety in our music now. In fact, it seems that every Mass features a tuneless number that is entirely new and practically impossible to sing. The choir stands out in front of the sanctuary, providing a distraction to those of us who can’t figure out exactly what they are singing anyway. And when you can understand the words, they are usually accompanied by a guitar and tambourine, again successfully diverting our attention. The music and words, if provided, are on loose sheets of paper that will be found scattered under pews for several Sundays to come.
The saddest part of it all, are the empty-handed people who come pouring out of Mass. The paperback booklets stay in the pew and the music refuses to linger in our minds or hearts. I can’t judge what each and every person carries away from Mass. The outward sign seems somewhat barren. A missal in the hand just seems to be worth so much more than two leaflet missals left behind in the pew.
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